


i bet that i can lose it all

by valerian



Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-08
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 15:38:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/712343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valerian/pseuds/valerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So it was wrong to bang the drunk chick. Robin knew that, but she also knew that it'd be stupid not to get a little something, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	i bet that i can lose it all

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is inspired by an interesting observation Robin made in "The Perfect Cocktail." She said, "Peppermint Schnapps turns Barney into Richard Dawson, the crazy old host of Family Feud who greeted women by kissing them on the mouth."
> 
> This takes place sometime in season 6.

So it was wrong to bang the drunk chick. Robin knew that, but she also knew that it’d be stupid not to get a _little_ something, right? 

The night had started off simple enough. Work had been a drag, and thoughts of Don kept weaving in and out of her mind. She hadn’t had sex in _ages,_ so she figured she needed to let loose and totally forget her lot in life for a night. Just one night. To relax, to unwind, to cool off, and who better to enjoy that with than Barney?

She had called him and told him to “Suit up! We’re going to the Cigar Bar!” 

He had agreed, however reluctantly. “Robin, I’m giving up a sure thing here. But bros before hos, and you’re my bro. So.”

Robin had laughed. That idiot. She hated to admit it, but he still popped into her dreams from time to time. His smell, his lips, his eyes. His other parts. Something 17% wistful and 83% painful squeezed at her heart, doubled her over. Ow. Goddamn idiot. He made her miss him at the weirdest times, sometimes even more intensely than she missed Don.

But Robin did not linger on that. No sir, Robin did not, because Ms. Scherbatsky did not dwell on emotions. She shut them down like the Canucks did to the Flyers two weeks back in an all-out brawl. It was gruesome and brutal and totally hot. Ooh, just the memory sent tingles running up and down her spine. A dangerous amount of heat, not uncommon these days, pooled in her groin. Damn hormones. Damn, damn, damn.

The only solution thus was to engineer a plan, a scheme. A play. Yes, a play: something innocent and forgettable (to him) but still good and satisfying (to her). A kiss, maybe, to satiate this gnawing hunger. It’d be alright as long as _he_ did not remember it, but _she_ did. It would be a great fantasy to indulge upon lonely nights.

After much mulling, Robin knew it came down to a matter of alcohol. At the Cigar Bar, a decidedly male-dominated destination, she started Barney on a steady stream of scotch while she nursed her own very slowly. Their conversation began with work, then his latest conquests, landing finally on laser tag tournaments in Poughkeepsie. 

“Be my partner, Robin. It will be legen—“

“—Wait for it—“

“—Dary.” 

“I know.” She winked and took a puff from one of the fattest torpedoes she had ever had the pleasure to experience. “Mm. When is it?”

“Valentine’s Day.”

“Ooh, lala.”

“It’s not a date, in case you were wondering.”

“I didn’t think it was.”

“It’s just two bros hanging out on Valentine’s Day. Like bros do, y’know. Bro-style.”

“Uh huh. Bro-style but with decidedly more boob.” She pointed a finger at her chest. “I’m wearing a push up bra. Did you notice?”

“Hahaha. Why do you even ask? I always notice.” 

“Do you?”

“I notice everything about you, Scherbatsky, and I mean that in a very objective, non-flirtatious way.” 

“Really.”

Barney tore his gaze from her breasts, gestured to her hair. “You trimmed half an inch off and added a few more waves. It suits you.”

“Thanks.”

“You got a manicure three days ago. You’re wearing a brighter shade of lipstick than usual.”

“Right on all accounts.”

“You changed your perfume from Chanel no. 5 to—“ He leaned in, took a sniff. “—Dolce and Gabanna by Dolce and Gabanna. The good stuff.”

“What can I say? I never waste a paycheck.” She smirked, and he smirked back. She felt that heat again, the want that never really left when he did. It irked her. He looked away. 

“More scotch?” he asked, loosening the knot of his tie. 

Robin pursed her lips and considered the morality of her next words. To get him drunk or not to get him drunk? Ah, to hell with it. “What about a round of peppermint schnapps? I’m buying.”

“Peppermint schnapps and cigars? Really, Robin?”

“Yeah. It’ll be fun.”

“Pfft. It’ll be gross.”

“Trust me, Barney. It will be fun.” 

“Whatever you say. It’s your money.” 

“Be right back.” Robin stood and headed to the bar. A wave of excitement coursed through her veins, making her jumpy and anxious. She could not remember the last time they had kissed. A year ago? Even more? 

“What will it be?” the bartender asked.

“Seven shots of peppermint schnapps,” she said, and when the bartender was done, Robin had to carry the liquor back on a tray.

“Whoah,” Barney said, brow quirked and disbelieving. “Is that all for me? You shouldn’t have.”

Robin picked up a shot glass, and he did the same. “Bottoms up.”

They drank. The alcohol rolled down her throat and made her bold. She puffed from her cigar, and everything tasted minty. “Not bad, eh?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t feel right.” 

“Do another shot. It’ll feel better.”

She watched as he downed another glass of peppermint schnapps. Then, at her urging, another one. And another one. And another one, until all the tiny glasses were empty, and he stood shakily and mumbled, “I need to pee.”

Robin watched him lumber toward the men’s room and felt her heart start to race. She was nearing the finish line. This was it, and what she was about to do was so unethical and so horrible and so Barney-like in its manipulation that her stomach began to churn, half with disgust and half with fear. 

What if her calculations were off? What if he had not imbibed enough to black out by the end of the night? They would kiss, then he’d remember the kiss, then everything would get all complicated and screwy, and their friendship would be totally ruined, and that would be the worst thing ever. It’d be worse than that time he got hit by a bus and almost died. At least then, when he had been at the hospital, she’d gotten to visit him every day. If she lost him now as a result of her stupid lust, then…frankly, she did not know what she would do. Cry, maybe. Probably.

Before she could reach some satisfactory conclusion, she saw him stagger back toward his seat. He scoped the room with glazed eyes, seeking the voluptuous form of a woman or two. But there were no ladies around tonight. Not even a hot bartender. It was just Robin, and she felt like pure evil when he set his sights on her face, lazy grin in place. 

“How ya’ doin’, darlin’?” he slurred, ambling in her direction. 

Robin stood up and cleared her throat. “Fine.” 

“Mm, yeah you are.” He reached his hands out and gripped both her arms. Robin could smell smoke and liquor on his breath, and the scents blended with his amazing cologne, spicy and rich (like him), and yeah, she was totally not fighting this anymore. Let him close the space between them, which he did. Here came his Richard Dawson greeting. His kiss on her mouth, nothing more than a peck, but when he started to pull away, Robin did not let him go.

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she held on, because it felt right. So what if he was drunk, and she was only pretending to be tipsy? She pressed her body against his, and he set his hands on her waist. She slid her tongue along the seam of his lips, and he eagerly let her in. She moaned, and he gasped, and this was the best decision she had made in months. Everything—the tingles, the electricity, her complete inability to fathom anything other than his taste—took her back, way back, to how things used to be and were meant to be. How sweet they were, how sexy. How utterly lost they found themselves day in and day out, on soft beds and uncomfortably flat tabletops. He was always ready for her, ready to satisfy her every demand, and ugh, Robin Scherbatsky, you are a monster. You are a masochistic monster. 

When she put him to bed later that night, luring him under his comforter by whispering sweet, French nothings into his ear, Robin felt her heart break all over again. Barney had fallen asleep instantly, which meant he definitely would remember nothing of this the next day. She was alone for the thousandth time, a spoiled woman. 

Ruined for all men.


End file.
